The Eucharist
by Apixabain
Summary: The world is but a grand game of chess, played with a mere four pieces They had fallen apart. But Blake's unwilling disappearance set off the gears to drive them together. Racing against time to save a teammate's life, the fragmented Team RWBY learn that allies and enemies are often facets of the same mask. Nothing is absolute, and nothing is what it seems Post-Beacon Grad AU
1. Sicilian defense

**The Eucharist**

 _The world is but a grand game of chess, played with a mere four pieces._

 _*The Blake-gets-kidnapped post-graduation AU*_

 **Chapter 1: Sicilian defense**

 _A bold opening and combative in nature. Black is playing not just for equality, but for the advantage._

"Human affairs are like a chess-game: only those who do not take it seriously can be called good players."

Yang makes a visit. All does not seem well.

* * *

Yang treaded down the dimly lit hallway in mud-caked boots, streaking dark smudges against carpet, pristinely new. She didn't know when she started hating this place, but she's certain she hates it now. It reeked of half-masked lies. Victorian lights and some lush Turkish-inspired rugs do nothing to hide the sterile new-building smell with an absence of warmth and life.

On paper, the location of the unit was good. Top floor corner, west-facing windows to capture the daily setting sun, all furnished with a dark oak flooring of which Blake had been particularly fond. It reminded her of Forever Falls. Located squarely in the middle of an up-and-coming neighborhood bustling with nightlife, the place itself was still too new to be bustling with many tenants. How did Blake phrase it? Tangent yet aloof.

Like attracts like, it seems.

When they first toured it, the brawler had watched her partner spin around the empty space like a ballerina, arms spanned as wide as her smile, cloaked in a playful mirth she hadn't witnessed in a long, long time.

"It's beautiful. It's perfect," Blake had whispered almost wistfully, seemingly trawling for sepia-tinted memories.

No sooner had she stopped spinning that she'd made an offer on the spot. It wasn't everyday Yang saw her partner make impulsive decisions (that's usually _her_ job), nevermind ones to spoil herself.

But Blake deserved so much more, for someone who had already borne so many lifetimes' worth of sins.

They moved in within the week.

When the blonde dropped the last of the moving boxes on the floor with an unceremonious flourish, she was rewarded with warm arms draped softly around her waist.

"Thanks." She felt her partner's warm cheeks press into her back, the sensation seeping deeper than skin. She nudged just a bit tighter into the embrace. They both knew the gratitude was for more than just helping with the move.

But a lot went unspoken between them nowadays.

"Don't mention it." Yang felt an odd pang of emptiness as Blake let go to return to unpacking. It felt weird to be the one leaving this time, but recently, she'd been the flightier partner.

It's been a year since the team broke up, the aftermath leading Ruby and Weiss to bury themselves in their respective work, and Yang to take that world tour she'd always wanted, albeit for all the wrong reasons, only to come storming back on hearing the first hitman's bullet strayed three inches from Blake's head.

Suppressing an unpleasant squirm in her gut, Yang palmed the doorframe, already half-way out. She couldn't suppress one last glance. Boxes and piles of books made a haphazard fortress, with the faunus only visible as a pair of ears behind a tub crudely labeled "kitchenware," filled to the brim with new dishes and pans that had been a present from the team for Blake's law school graduation two years prior.

Struck by a last-minute mischievous streak, the blonde cupped her mouth and channeled her inner prince charming. "Ahoy there, fair lady, whilst thou needeth rescue from yon cardboard prison and be freed from a lifetime of unpacking servitude?" She mimed in her finest butchered old English, probably borrowed from some ancient book Blake once force-fed her.

Her grin stretched into a full-toothed beam as fuzzy ears twitched and twin amber eyes arched into view, full of peeved fondness reserved for Yang only. The look on the faunus' face was one her partner hadn't seen in over a year. A genuine smile. One that was truly happy.

Yang was taken aback.

Ever attentive, Blake reflexively tilted her head. "Yang, you ok?" When the blonde failed to respond, she chose to probingly tease. "Did using big words break you?" Still no response. She softened and relented. "I'll be fine. Just give me a few days to unpack."

Suddenly guilty, Yang instinctively magnetized toward her. Lightly propelled herself from the door frame, she bounced over a wall of books before landing crouched mere inches from her raven-haired partner, her mournful lilac eyes suddenly a breath away from concerned amber. Yang sighed heavily.

"I'm really sorry for leaving tomorrow. I should be helping you set up shop," came the rueful apology. Petulant, even. Then it was Blake's turn to let out a dramatic huff.

"Yang, for the millionth time, there's nothing to apologize for. If anything, I should be apologizing to you for strong arming you into helping me move." The blonde's mouth opened to protest that it was no trouble at all, but a gentle finger to her lips sealed them as her partner continued with a wry smile.

"I'm excited for you, I really am. This is your first real mission since—" she hesitated, suddenly contrite, "—since forever. You've already done so much for me. But both you and I know what you need right now is some self-discovery, and not to bodyguard me." Her expression was poetic melancholy plucking at Yang's heartstrings as she reached to tuck away a strand of Yang's wild flaxen hair.

"I really hope you find what you're looking for. I know you'll find what you're looking for."

How unfair, Yang thought, how those golden eyes, filled with understanding and warmth, so easily rendered her mute without fail.

She gently tugged and pulled Blake into an embrace, becoming awash in the lingering scent of raven tresses full of something floral and nostalgic, something she will never tire of. She closed her eyes and let herself be submerged in the sensation of it all, willing the moment to never pass.

But Blake was right. Yang can't stand by her side forever.

More than once this past year she would've been willing to give up her other arm if it meant she could undo all the damage to her team. The doe-eyed, self-questioning young huntresses of Team RWBY thrown haphazardly together by fate was a distant haze blocked out by unhealed scars.

But she couldn't deny that out of the wreckage, everyone else had already started reconstructing their lives with purpose. Blake had found her own path to follow. Her sister and Weiss too.

And yet for herself…

Why do you want to become a huntress?

That deceivingly innocuous question which continues to haunt her gently, silently.

She cannot remain the last one to leave it unanswered.

Not for the first time, she looked, really looked, at the faunus still deep in her embrace, and saw Blake not as her partner and other half on the battlefield, but as the world saw her.

To the world, Blake was fire. The young revolutionary turned legal scholar who wrought justice through the rule of law. Hope to a race of people who had long thought hope dead. After winning Adam's trial, she suddenly garnered the attention she'd desperately sought for a lifetime since she first protested with that picket sign at the age of six.

The suitors of her alliance came in drenching waves of all factions and sides. The politburo, the underground, the corporations, the military, everyone who was anyone descended like ravenous vultures to feast, vying for her and filling her ears with whispers of promises and partnerships and alliances, every intention dripping with poison.

She chose to ignore them all.

The young faunus rights lawyer opted to walk her own path. She was aware rebuffing powerful figures likely made her a notable list of enemies, but she wanted to show the world that she could not be bought. She wanted to help her people the right way.

Then came three brushes with death, the first of which brought Yang back to her side, and the last of which landed her and Yang in the hospital and twenty bystanders dead, the mental trauma blocking her from practice for nearly half a year, with Yang never more than footsteps away.

The situation had since de-escalated, and the blonde knew her utility was waning. She can't be just the watchdog who trailed behind forever.

"Yang?" The brawler snapped out of her daze and shivered. When did they pull apart from the hug?

"You ok?" The worry lining Blake's voice only spiked guilt in Yang. She shouldn't be burdening the one who already shouldered so much. So she nodded, though mostly to convince herself.

"Yeah. I'm fine." She will be. For Blake. For her team. She has to be.

* * *

The mission was supposed to take eight weeks but ended in six.

Her scroll had been destroyed a mere five days in, during a night stampede. The irony that the mission was codenamed Operation Blackout wasn't completely lost on her.

Yang supposed herself lucky that when two dozen Beowolves suddenly tore into camp in the dead of night, the alpha that squashed her tent didn't land a meter more to the left. Ruby would much rather deal with her moaning and groaning about how much a scroll costs than an army official breaking the news that her beloved older sister now shared the consistency of rotting meatloaf. That Ruby personally begged and pleaded with her government superiors to place Yang on the mission wouldn't have helped.

Still, not having communication was torture, and as the days passed Yang found herself growing increasingly antsy.

Like any Grimm-clearing mission, progress was slow. She might be in the company of Vale's finest military elites, but the Goliaths they seem to be encountering at every corner proved difficult enemies.

By the time they reached the final flushing point, some old underground military bunker along the Vale-Vacuo border, rumors of a suicide bombing at the Vale capitol building, where Ruby kept an office, had reached the group. With no way to contact her sister, Yang characteristically imploded and decided to take things into her own hands. The mission was about to have an expedited end.

She knew her sister could take care of herself and probably wasn't even in the capitol the day of the bombing with how frequently Ruby took missions, but the crawling nag of not knowing ate at her like acid. After all, her own brush with death with Blake was still fresh in mind.

Three days later, she was back in the damaged capitol building, her haste only rewarded by the constant droning of hurried construction and repairs. Ruby's office, as it turned out, sat on an outside wing and escaped unscathed.

"Yang, stop that! Just because you're my sister doesn't make it ok for you cake dirt on my desk," complained the very subject of Yang's worries and concerns for the past month, alive, unharmed, and becomingly increasingly annoyed.

The brawler only chuckled as she crossed her arms loosely behind her head, unceremoniously dropping one experimental boot she had just sneaked up on her sister's desk. She sneaked a one-eyed glance at her younger sibling, which was promptly ignored as Ruby ungracefully swept her older sister's other leg off the table.

Ruby Rose looked like the model government huntress. She sort of was, Yang noted internally with a hint of displeasure, with the way her face was used and plastered on the official websites and pamphlets. Taiyang would nod approvingly if he saw his daughter, though, especially at the collared blouse popped smartly under a slim-fit blazer which replaced the once iconic combat-skirt and hood, now painting the very image of a working professional. Even her personality had become professional...and a lot less fun. Ruby's eyes had not once broken from the report in her hand as she continued to read aloud, something unheard of during their Beacon years.

" _Special Operative Xiao Long at 0400 began independent engagement against Grimm. Communication was cut once she descended below ground level of the mission's final Grimm flush point, Canopy Bunker. Lead squad attempted to follow as backup but could not advance past the high density of Grimm._

 _At 0430 signal for retreat was given and mission was determined a failure. At 0500 communication with operative Xiao Long was re-established, with verbal report from operative Xiao Long that all below ground level Grimm were terminated. Retreat orders were reiterated for operative Xiao Long, with no affirmation._

 _At 0510 visual confirmation was received of flames spanning the entirety of ground level. At 0515 received verbal confirmation from operative Xiao Long that all Grimm activity on all floor levels was terminated. At 0520 Operation Blackout's operational outcome was reversed, and determined as successful."_

Ruby finally looked up and locked gaze with Yang, incredulous. "Yang. You didn't."

The blonde couldn't bite back a smirk. "Maaaybe I did? Oof!" Her sheepish reply was cut short as Ruby hurtled herself into her sister.

"You. Are. AMAZING! Amazingly reckless, that is, but I can't believe you cleared out that entire bunker of Grimm by yourself. You could've died! How many Grimm were there? And you set the place on fire?"

Ruby really was trying her best to put on a scolding, Yang could tell, but the old effervescent fifteen-year-old enthusiasm that bubble just under the surface made her uncoil a bit, knowing the government hadn't yet managed to squeeze all the spunk out of her sister.

"I felt like I was swimming in the Dead Sea. Because of how Grimm the situation was. Get it?" She frankly guffawed as brunette groaned and rolled her eyes so hard they flashed nothing but white.

"Yang…"

"You know you love me."

Ruby pouted indignantly. "Yeah I do. So much so that I'd really like it if I'm not constantly paranoid that I sent my own sister into a deathtrap mission," she chided, her gaze suddenly turning hard, "especially when she doesn't seem to understand the phrase, _follow orders_?"

The brawler visibly winced at that. But Ruby was merciful, opting to change the subject.

"The commander seemed to really like you. I mean, I can't tell you what he said at the debriefing since, you know," she dropped her voice to a knowing whisper, "government hush hush, but he'll definitely have your back if you want to apply as a government huntress."

Yang giggled like a schoolgirl. The commander was a tough-ass lick of spit and railed on her from the get-go. A nonchalant attitude and lack of deference for military code on her part culminated in a tirade of insults turned outright fist-fight between the two just three days into deployment.

"Don't think you earned your place here just because your sister licked some councilor's shoes for you," the old army dog had vehemently spat, probably in reply to something Yang insinuated about dried tree bark and his manhood. And in front of a dozen pairs of horrified eyes of Vale's best and finest, Yang hurled her fists into the old cuss's jaw, instantly popping teeth.

The commander had tottered drunkenly into a sprawling heap. Yang had mentally prepared herself for the flogging or execution or whatever they did to people like her. What she had not expected was laughter.

With blood dribbling down both nostrils and a wretched, half-toothy smile, the old man was cracking up on the ground as if he'd just heard Remnant's best joke. He spat out blood and probably another tooth.

"You punch hard."

She'd swallowed her nerves, thick as molasses. "Well, my dad taught me to try not to punch, but if I had to, to make the first one count."

And with that, Yang was given free rein to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, for the duration of the mission. If it hadn't been for the old man's adamant shielding, Yang's little stunt at Canopy Bunker would've likely strung her up for a military tribunal for insubordination at a minimum. Instead, she'd been given a hero's welcome and an open invitation to join her sister in the rank of Vale's elite hunters and huntresses.

And in true Yang Xiao Long fashion, she flatly declined.

She appreciated her sister's gesture, but it didn't feel right, to live life under constraints and orders, no matter how much freedom they promised. She abhorred the thought of being controlled, and even worse, being in the spotlight. She saw what it did to Blake and Weiss, one violently propelled up a pedestal, the other forced to retreat behind a corporate fortress.

At least she gave it a try. After giving Ruby a quick hug, she set off to break the bad news to Blake. She's back two weeks early, so maybe it'll be a surprise.

A surprise it was, but for the wrong party.

* * *

A/N: This story started with two sentences. "Blake gets kidnapped. The White Fang are literally ISIS." Hey, if Trump can be a serious presidential contender then anything can happen.

I actually had this written toward the end of February when I was procrastinating hard for my boards, but I kept rewriting and rewriting it, and lo and behold here we are. One day I will recount how disgustingly large an amount of time I spent imagining Yangsty scenarios instead of studying for likely the most important exam of my life. The best impetus to write is apparently test anxiety.

The first couple of chapters will come out fast because they were mostly written two months ago. What is a schedule, clearly neither I nor GRRM knows. I actually have 31+ pages of random scenes and the ending line written, so basically it's just organizing this fiasco, fml story of my life \:D/.


	2. Heavy piece

**Chapter 2: Heavy piece**

 _The queen or rook, also known as major piece_

 _"_ We cannot resist the fascination of sacrifice, since a passion for sacrifice is part of a Chessplayer's nature"

Yang's gut feeling is always right

* * *

Her anxiety heightened with the frequency with which she rapped the apartment door. Blake, with her sensitive hearing, had always answered or at least called out on the third knock.

Maybe she's still at work. But the faunus rarely spent time at her office with since the unwanted media attention.

Something wasn't right. Where Weiss and Blake derived strength from strategy, the siblings had always depended on instinct, with Yang especially so.

She wasn't expected for another two weeks, and it was entirely possible for Blake to have traveled somewhere, anywhere. But deep down Yang felt her partner should've been home. With the sun rapidly setting, she spied through the peephole that the house was dark. The crescendo of anxiety she hadn't noticed building up began to spill over.

She had to get in.

Yang swore at herself for not having the foresight of bringing anything except Ember Celica. What was she going to do, shoot the door down? She briefly considered it, but she might as well turn herself into the police then and there.

But it's not like mission planning was her forte, either. Years ago, she'd been more than comfortable to play the tank and leave shading in the details to her more strategically inclined teammates.

 _To thy own self, be true_. Blake loved that line. Backing all the way to the opposite end of the narrow corridor, Yang pondered the irony of it all before bursting forward, shoulders first, toward the door like a volatile battering ram—

CRASH!

—And plastered through in a jumbled, pained heap. Did she land face-first? A taste of metal flushed her stinging lips. Suppressing a pained groan as her momentum finally halted with a soft thump against a wall, she hoped her teeth were still all there. Fumbling for purchase, she slowly rose and glanced back.

Rather than crashing past the door, she'd more or less crashed _through_ it. As she stood, dusting off a hail of splinters, she couldn't help but think that Blake would probably kill her if she ever saw this sorry scene.

She felt her heart sink and legs leaden when only silence greeted her. Some sixth sense told her the apartment had been devoid of the warmth of another living being for quite some time. She tried to call out but her voice seemed paralyzed by fear, coming out as a feeble croak when she spoke her partner's name.

"Blake?"

Nothing. She flipped on a light switch but nothing happened, and her heart began to accelerate in panic. She tried to reason with herself. The circuit breaker could've tripped, or maybe a bad storm happened. _Or someone purposely cut the wires—_

She bit down the thought before she could finish it.

The apartment was lit by nothing more than dim streetlight sneaking behind shuttered windows as she began exploring the home clumsily, guided only by muscle memory.

As she finally made her way to Blake's office, eyes at last adjusted to the darkness, she paused. Nothing seems changed. A desk of dark oak with stationary neatly set cast tall shadows from moonlight through a nearby bay window. A complimentary dark leathered chair sat neatly flushed along the desk's edge, the seat lined with a fine film of dust indicating its disuse. Legal papers set in messy clusters. Framed diplomas and team photos. And anointing the opposite wall in a ceremonial frame, the final confirmation that something was horribly wrong.

In two steps Yang bridged the distance and lifted Gambol Shroud with trembling hands, clutching it tightly as if it were a living being. Blake never parted from her weapon, but now it lay abandoned. In fact, _nothing_ seemed missing—wherever she had gone, it wasn't by choice. The morbid implications suddenly left Yang drained, and she fell heavily to her knees. That's when she saw it.

Nearly hidden by the shadows of the chair's legs, a single drop of something dark stood out against the floor, illuminated by moon-cast shadows somberly flickering. Yang tentatively reached out, and felt the stain long-dried.

She scraped at it with a tentative nail and passed her finger across her tongue, and registered an instant hit of ferric tang.

 _Blood._

Blake's blood.

* * *

She thought she'd mastered the art of masking her true self long, long ago.

But as with all things with her, that was only a partial truth. The number of times she'd shed tears in her life she could count on one hand. She'd always found inner calm even amidst the heat of battle. Situations that would rile her teammates and especially her partner to fisticuffs would likely elicit from her nothing more than a piercing glance.

To the casual observer, Yang was all glamor and flash, volatility and emotion. But she wonders if her shadows weren't blackfire that could blot out even the sun.

To Blake, emotions were a slow burn, and she was always volatile magma beneath a calm exterior, coiled to erupt. If the brawler's lapses of anger were sparks, then the faunus' were maelstroms—meteoric heat once crested would scorch endlessly, seeking extinction of enemies and friends alike until all turned into ash.

How many times has she allowed her fits of passion to the brink of self-destruction?

Roman Torchwick, the White Fang, just samples of her hell-bent fervor to fight. All for what? Justice? Revenge? Penitence?

Sometimes, she's afraid she'd been struggling her entire life for empty goals. But it's all she'd ever known.

Until she met her team, she had always thrown herself bodily into the fray, because she knew no better. She had a cause, and she would fight, consequences be damned, for she did not want to think. With conviction she had slid her blade beneath her enemies' ribs, only to again and again choke on the blood that spilled from gasping lips in confusion to find that it is her own.

But she had healed, and knew better now, as was natural after becoming surrounded by unconditional love and support for the first time in her life. Her team poured their hearts out for her.

And yet she hurt them too. She was relapsing. It had only been a year since the trial that changed everything. Adam. He was locked away. Everyone had told her she had done such good.

Yet why did she receive only loneliness and corrosion of the bonds she held most dear?

Her grief became too much and suddenly manifested as physical pain. She emerged from the drowning waters of nightmarish thoughts and let out a starved gasp.

"...hey. She's coming to." A gruff voice. Her senses were dulled to sludge and she could not think. But some primal instinct screamed to her that she was in danger.

Bright. Everything, halos of light. Was she dead?

But then, she heard the hurried scattering of footsteps. Over the dreadful ringing deafening her ears she recognized the beeping of machinery, oddly in tune with her own pulse—

"Ah." She noted a pained voice, low, gasping. Was she alone? Who was in pain?

Her first coherent thought was that she should help. After all, humility and sacrifice were in her blood. And she would've helped if it weren't for the realization that she couldn't think straight and only felt numb as she tried to move her body.

The cries grew louder now, growing increasingly raw.

Why wasn't anyone helping this person—

"Ommf!" A heavy hand battered her face and suddenly she couldn't breathe as realization and horror simultaneously set in.

The screamer was her.

She began thrashing in earnest though she still could not feel where her head began and feet ended. And it was still so blinding, all lights, all white, and she could just start making out the outlines of bodies and heads and covered faces—

Masks. White masks, inlaid with streaks as red as blood. Her veins froze. White Fang.

NO! She wanted to scream, or maybe did scream, she doesn't know.

They were supposed to be gone. She had personally made sure of that. It had been her final sacrifice, where she had destroyed her own team, her most inseparable bonds so that he would be locked away forever—

"Put her under."

Suddenly her veins burned and her body grew weak as her struggling became feeble, with the light that had blinded her just seconds before fading to black from the periphery of her vision.

Even as her consciousness was enveloped by an infinite abyss, her silent tears could not be stopped from spilling over.

What had it all been for?

And then she was still. A sorry sight, really, the way her dark hair cascaded carelessly downward, contrasted against a room otherwise completely white, sickeningly accentuated with a spatter of fresh blood.

"She bit me!" An incredulous voice, rife with anger.

"Shut up. Did you get it?"

The grunt bit his lips. He knew better than to argue. Their leader has shown no reluctance to kill. To him, there were no allies or enemies…only pawns and prey.

Since the fall of the White Fang's past leader, the terrorist group had largely broken up. Most lost their appetite to fight. Some even turned toward _her_ , lost lemmings seeking a new savior. But the darkest tendrils can never fully be unrooted. What remained of the group survived under new leadership and grew crueler.

The grunt clasped a hand over the bleeding gash on his arm and offered the scroll held in his injured fingers.

His leader snatched it with impatience and re-watched the video twice. It came out even better than he'd thought. The pain, the fear, the screams. Her friends can rest assured that she was alive, but beyond that? In his mind, the fear on their faces was nearly palpable.

Insane laughter ripped from his throat as his large frame and the chainsaw strapped upon his back shook violently, the cacophony echoing in the enclosed prison sending chills down everyone's spines, its terror lost only on the limp figure on the floor.

* * *

 **A/N:** Blake seems to be in a bad place. And certain people are about to get the worst video message of their lives. Our Shakespearean tragedy meets season 4 of Scandal begins—where on Earth is Blake Sandiego, Blake Sandiego? Also, please note the ridiculous pacing: chapter 1 – Yang walking down the hallway; chapter 2 – Yang reaches the door.

To RTV who wondered if your comment would have the magic touch for an update - it counts if it's within 24hrs right?

The chapter titles are chess inspired to go along with the series description. In a way, our four heroines are very much pieces of profound importance, but isn't the whole point to become not the pieces but the players...?


	3. Tabiya

**Chapter 3: Tabiya**

Tabiya: the opening position from which two players familiar with each other's tastes begin play

"The beauty of a move lies not in its appearance but in the thought behind it"

Weiss ponders the many forms of death and dying.

* * *

Weiss disapprovingly noted that Lisa Lavender's nose bridge had gotten higher, again, before quickly chiding herself for espousing such a vain thought. Some habits of upbringing were hard to kick. In her own defense, though, one must not be blasé about appearances, especially if one happened to be a prominent public figure. Weiss herself would know. She scrunched her nose in irritation before turning back to the broadcaster's matter-of-fact droning.

"…It has now been one week since the release of shocking hostage footage of Ms. Blake Belladona, a legal scholar and rising star in the faunus rights movement, who was reportedly kidnapped from her private Vale residence early last week. Local authorities still cannot confirm the party responsible for her capture. They have now requested assistance from the Government Hunters Association in their investigation—"

A series of perfectly uniform knocks interrupted her concentration causing Weiss to furrow her brows in annoyance. This place was as rigid as the geometries of the Schnee crest. Must even a simple door knock sound so formal and businesslike?

"Ms. Schnee, apologies for the interruption." The voice was aloof but subservient. _Just like all the other Schnee company personnel who may very well be replaced with robots and not a single soul would be the wiser_ , the heiress thought. "The board is ready—"

"Yes, I am well aware," she snapped with a gratuitous eye-roll. Once upon a time, Ruby would have told her with a grin that if the ice queen kept on doing that, one day her eyes would get stuck in the back of her head.

The Ruby Rose that contacted her a week ago after nearly a year of radio-silence, however, had none of that in her voice.

 _"Weiss, Blake is missing."_ Not a hint of her usual carefree temperance or glinting humor softened the hard flint in her tone. The harrowing chill that sentence had eroded into Weiss' bones surprised even herself, for she had once believed that her spirit embodied the ice she wielded, steadfast and infallible.

And before she could retort, or even ask how Ruby was going, or why she was calling now, and most importantly what she had been doing for the past goddamn year, her former team leader implored for her to just listen, as she rattled off in one desperate breath Yang's discovery of blood in Blake's abandoned apartment and an hour long footage mailed to the Vale government building from the kidnappers showing something so terrible that Ruby's voice uncharacteristically cracked as her professional façade momentarily fractured. Weiss had wanted to simultaneously comfort and wring the neck of her partner, but in typical Ruby fashion the crimson speedster hung up with a hurried and apologetic good-bye before Weiss could squeeze in a single word.

"Damn it, Ruby," she cursed, resigned. An entire year without a single word. And she didn't even get to say anything besides _hello._

The next seven days passed like hell on Remnant.

Currently, Weiss Schnee was simply tired beyond her twenty-three years. Unceremoniously kicking her office chair in place, she took one last glance at the television before powering it off as Blake's face stretched over the screen for what must have been the millionth time the networks were replaying her hostage video.

Her censored hostage video.

Weiss had unfortunately seen the real thing.

The day after Ruby called, a single neat package appeared before the front steps of the SDC headquarters. And after seeing it, Weiss soon understood why Ruby had tried to spare her from the details.

Blood. There had been so much blood against the porcelain walls that seemed to endlessly stretch. But Weiss was sure what will haunt her until the end of time were the agonizing, endless screams. Some primal instinct told her they were not sounds made by someone who was still human.

Perhaps it was because she had seen injected eyes that had primed her with the same thoughts earlier that week, when Yang had stormed into her office gauntlets loaded in a wild rage that refused to be quenched by anything less than blood.

If that blonde brute had shown up just a day later, after Ruby had a chance to explain the situation. Or if Ruby had called just a bit earlier. If she had not let her tempers flare when she recalled how deeply the blonde's partner had wounded her and shattered the trust that she gave out as tentatively as a buckling calf's first tentative steps, then Blake might not have had to bleed and break on the side of a pixelated screen.

She knew these were just excuses. She might never forgive herself.

She pulled at her normally pristine hair and found to her dismay fingers trailing away with several silvery strands attached. Her divine retribution, it seemed, consisted of being robbed of all restful sleep and any appetite beyond stomaching a few bites and sips of water for the rest of her life. She took a glance at her reflection from the glassy surface of her workstation and noted the dusky shadows beneath her eyes had tracked down even lower, and that her face looked equally as gaunt to match. Yelling at Yang to get out of her office, with her final words implying she could care less about what happened to Blake, only to learn Yang wasn't as insane as Weiss had accused her to be, that Blake really had been kidnapped and could now be dead—Weiss let out a croak with a tinge of insanity— _all that_ was eating away at her psyche and sanity.

A part of her was grateful that it was her cross to bear alone, at least at the moment. Distribution of the raw footage had seemed deliberately targeted. Aside from the single video file encrypted on a black thumb drive nested in a slim bone-white box that appeared overnight at the recipient's footsteps, the copy that showed up at the Government Hunters Association appeared to be the only other.

Glancing at the grandfather clock opposing her desk, Weiss realized just how long she had once again sank into the pits of her introspective damnation. Standing quickly, she had half a mind to ride a speed glyph up the floor to the meeting, but opted to speed-walk with as much dignity as she can muster. Ignoring muttered greetings and bent apologizes of nervous eyes, she finally stepped into the boardroom. Twelve heads turned, some nodding back while others simply sent piercing gazes. Great. She was the last one to arrive again. Weiss did her best to quietly slide into her seat toward the back.

"We received a second video today." Weiss flinched reflexively. A second mistake almost no one noticed.

All eyes were turned toward the head of the table except one pair, whose gaze missed nothing and fell squarely onto Weiss.

"Play it." Her father commanded, without breaking the gaze he kept locked onto Weiss. His voice tinged with the barest trace of disappointment topping his usual tone, dispassionate and cold, matched by equally cold eyes

He was testing her, she realized, as she stiffly shuffled in her seat.

She tried to dissociate herself from her body, as if her entity floated above her physical self and this boardroom, and that she was not really watching the living death of the woman she had sworn just days ago to Yang that she wouldn't give a damn about if she died—

"Ms. Schnee!" Her head snapped up and she suddenly became aware of her hands, bone-white and trembling, fisted so tightly that she had unknowingly drawn blood now slowly trickling along the white marble-top in thin rivulets. She gritted her teeth, knowing full well she had failed whatever her father's expectations were.

"I'm fine," she gritted.

The board member directly across from her cleared his throat, his long mustache trembling with effort, clearly uncomfortable. "This kind of material hardly seems befitting any civilized person to watch, let alone a young lady such as Ms. Schnee—"

Weiss silenced him with a crucifying look. "I am a huntress, director, so _do not_ disparage me with your false sympathies. If you cannot tolerate being here to watch this, then I suggest you take your leave, instead of hiding behind pretenses of consideration for some faint-spirited damsel. No such person exists here." His mouth opened, and for several breaths he gasped like a beached whale gone dry, before clamming back into silence. Once again she tried to focus on not focusing and will the screams and convulsions on the screen to pass through her.

And then it was over. She felt her father's glance on her before she even turned to meet his eyes.

"She still seems to be alive, then. But nothing changes, and I will again stress that _this is not our concern._ Let her get what she… _deserves_." He drew out the last syllable as if savoring a rare, ripe wine, and Weiss felt the angry, welling tears hidden beneath the darkness of the room.

Uncomfortable silence reigned. Suddenly, she no longer cared for decorum as she stormed from the boardroom for the refuge of her office. The sound of construction grabbed her attention as she approached, and her heart sank when she had thought it could sink no lower. They are trying to fix her desk—

In a moment of panic her hand drifted to Myrtenaster to cast a speed glyph, but remembered that she had to give up the weapon since she started playing executive. She opted to run instead, for once not caring about proper form.

Storming through double doors typically coded shut now wide open, she exploded. "What is going on here?"

A dozen or so workers froze. Finally, someone in the back of the room sheepishly removed his work hat and gingerly bowed in apology. To her dismay, she recognized the pair of tufted ears jutting over his ashened hair. _A faunus._ Dust, they must all be faunus workers, she realized, as she noted how most wore various hats and thick, concealing shirts. They were just here to do their jobs, and she just played the stereotypical Schnee down to the letters.

It's like Blake's ghost would not stop haunting her in everything that she did. And Weiss wasn't sure if her former faunus friend was dead. Yet.

"Just leave. All of you. Now."

 _They looked so cowed_ , she noted as the tendrils of a pounding headache began building up her neck. This is just getting worse and worse. As the last worker shuffled past her, she reflexively grabbed his sleeve. It was the faunus worker that had bowed. A string of words came out unbidden.

"Are-are you being paid fair wages?" She regretted saying it instantly. It sounded so patronizing and falsely magnanimous, everything she had hated about her father and this company.

His face flashed surprise, then horror. _I just asked him a question with no right answers_ , she internally berated herself. Somehow she'd made the situation go from bad to worse. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "That was improper of me, I apologize. You all will be compensated for your time today. Just...please don't accept future renovation orders to my office without my explicit permission."

He bent his back so deeply his hat tumbled off, again revealing his faunus ears before scrambling to pick it up and rushing out, bowing continuously while uttering hushed apologies. After closing her office door, Weiss promptly collapsed in her office chair, face buried deeply in both hands. Between her fingers she surveyed her desk. They really did just get started. All that got repaired were two handles to the drawer cabinets on her right, still half crushed against each other. Overlaying that was a once beautiful slab of aged rosewood now marred by a single fist-shaped fissure and a long, solidary crack that ran the entire length of its grain.

A memento of the last time Yang visited.

The heiress later learned that Yang had somehow made the trip to Atlas from Vale in a single, sleepless night, and a mere day after the brawler found the single drop of blood in Blake's apartment.

In all their years at Beacon, Weiss had never even seen Yang say more than "please" with a pout for any favor. But when the blonde stormed in uninvited this time, Yang had been begging on bended knees.

Eyes bloodshot and hair disheveled, the blonde's face looked crazed. "Please, Weiss, I'm begging you, she's missing. Please, _please_ help me find her. You must know something."

Shocked as Weiss was, some part of her just could not believe that the blonde was telling her. "And what do you propose I can do? For all we know, she could be on a vacation. You're being ridiculous, Yang."

Weiss had been confused and offended. Why did Yang seek out an audience with her first, instead of Ruby or even Qrow? Then an unpleasant thought hit her. Did Yang suspect that the SDC or _she_ was somehow involved? How could she, how _dare_ she _—_

The memories rushed back with a vengeance, multiplied a thousand fold.

 _Blake had looked at her, of all people, eyes blazing before the entire court, as she dealt the death blow._ " _Adam Taurus is no guiltier of staining the fabric of society black than the omnipresent Schnee Dust Company..."_

No—

 _"—We the jury declare that in the case of Adam Taurus vs. Vale, that the defendant is…not guilty…"_

How—

 _"—due to evidence made public during the Adam Taurus trial, the Schnee Dust Company's trade contracts with all non-Atlasian entities will be temporarily suspended as a grand jury will conduct an investigation toward the integrity of its business practices…"_

How dare—

 _"Weiss, this is what you bring upon me when I finally entrust you to make your own choices? These are the bedfellows you keep?"_

 _"No Father, Blake would never—"_

But then—

" _I'm sorry. Weiss, I'm so sorry." Her arm hung limp with Myrtenaster acting like an anchor, as the faunus sobbed openly before her, not even attempting to defend herself._

To answer questions—

" _Well Weiss, you have a choice to make. Where does your allegiance lie? With me and the SDC, or…?"_

—with only wrong choices.

" _Ms. Schnee, did you aid Ms. Belladonna in her case against the extremist Adam Taurus?"_

 _The cameras were bright, the sheer volume of media present overwhelming. She remembered Ruby's betrayed face in the crowd, puffy from sobbing, and Yang's unfeeling eyes._

 _"I have no relations with that faunus woman." And at that moment, something had irrevocably broken. She watched as Yang turned her back without a second glance. She would lock herself away from the world from the haven of Patch, while Ruby just remained rooted like an epitaph of a memory long faded._

 _And Blake—_

 _Blake hadn't even been there._

The emotions from all her repressed memories precipitated into one, violent, fatal moment as Weiss lost control. The room suddenly plunged into a death-freeze as arctic winds blasted.

"She got what she _deserved_!" The once unflappable ice queen roared as she choked on her own breath, too paralyzed to even cover her mouth in horror at what she just said.

She had no such luxury to finish the thought, for her glacial tundra had started to burn.

In an instant, Yang had become magna incarnate. Hair blazing such wild light that Weiss was forced to shield her eyes, the blonde stepped forward with both fists raised as the very air began to crack under the intensity of heat. Raising both to the sky, Yang brought her fists down with a frustrated yell, forcing Weiss to reflexively duck. Weiss was thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion and thought for one wild second that Yang had somehow missed. Reaching for her non-existent weapon, she gazed up apprehensively and met eyes with the brawler, who was still breathing heavily over the now destroyed office desk. Ember Celica remained gauntlets, gleaming and un-deployed.

Glacier blue met not red but gray. Weiss would never forget that look. Yang's eyes looked...dead.

The blonde left as abruptly as she arrived, but not without parting words.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything before I left last time. But now...I guess…this is goodbye."

Despite the one being scared half to death, the heiress couldn't help but think that she was the one who killed a part of Yang that day.

Now, it was too late. Yang was gone, and her fears had been right. Yang had taken a bullet for Blake. Ruby would have done the same without a second thought. And if she'd done something, _anything,_ other than to chase Yang away…

If Blake died, Weiss wasn't sure she'd be able to live with herself. For the thousandth time that day, she wished Ruby were there.

* * *

A/N: This week went a bit differently than what I'd expected…and why do I keep on updating Saturdays at 3am…

Have you played our lord and savior RWBY Ace Attorney? I loved the cases, and thought Weiss' characterization in the second case in particular was _great._ She is actually a lot more fun to flesh out than I'd thought. That guy needs to make more. I just might be tickled enough to write some spin offs, I just might…

Anyway, please have more _today on what really went down_ , which is turning out more dramatic than Solange and Jay-Z's Met Gala elevator ride. I love her music btw, maybe more than Bey's…

Blake's a lawyer! Ruby's a bonafide federal agent huntress person! Weiss is on the SDC board after denouncing the team to regain her father's favors! Yang is…undergoing existential crises! And I'm doing visualization training on writing graphic violence by watching MKX fatalities videos and becoming distracted instead! I appreciate all your time spent/comments/kudos, and stick around next week to see if I can learn to write at normal people hours.


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